


Side Effects

by keelywolfe



Series: by any other name [98]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Therapy, Past Injury, Prejudice Against Monsters (Undertale), Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Sans (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22347622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: In the aftermath of from the events in 'Internal Disputes' and 'Bedside Stories', the fallout has an effect on everyone and they all have their own issues to deal with.
Relationships: Kustard, Papyrus/Papyrus (Undertale), Sans/Sans (Undertale), Spicyhoney, UnderFell Sans/UnderTale Sans, Underfell Papyrus/Underswap Papyrus
Series: by any other name [98]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1039829
Comments: 151
Kudos: 172





	1. Stretch and Edge

* * *

Waking up alone was not unusual in the scheme of things. That was most days and even on weekends the bed next to Stretch would usually be empty by the time he was ready to roll out for the day. Which wasn’t to say he’d never been awakened early by an amorous and handsy Edge, ready for a different kind of wakeup call, but Stretch tended to fall back asleep afterward. In his humble opinion, it wasn’t worth getting out of bed until there was some form of light outside and that was a fact that Stretch was willing to stand by, with plenty of Twitter polls on his side.

So when he reached out sleepily to sweep a hand over the sheets, he wasn’t exactly surprised when the only thing that greeted his touch was 1000-thread count sheets. A little disappointed, yeah, a smidge grouchy, absolutely, but definitely not surprised.

Stretch sighed and rolled over to give the ceiling fan a good stare. It only stayed in place innocently, the fan blades not pausing one whit at his mood. Which, to be fair, Stretch wasn’t exactly sure he could even classify his current mood; right now it was more a jambalaya than any single ingredient. What a week. 

After the kitchen crisis, once Edge got his fill of groping Stretch’s soul, they’d gone upstairs, Stretch helping Edge to hop along for once rather than gathering up his crutches. That’d been a comedy of errors right there, they’d probably looked like some kind of tortured three-legged race, hobbling along. They’d gone right to bed, do not pass go, skip the two-hundred, and lain there wrapped around each other, Edge still petting his sternum even though his soul was no longer visible. Stretch really had no idea when he’d fallen asleep or when Edge crept out of bed, but it must’ve been a fun trip downstairs without his crutches. Hopefully not a literal one. 

Stretch gave up on his contemplation of the ceiling fan to glance at his phone. The time made him blink. After using so much magic to heal Red, he’d been expecting to sleep in ‘til noon before guiltily creeping out to feed the ladies. But unless he’d accidentally changed the time zone, it was only nine o’clock. Huh. Magic drain was exhausting and he hadn’t eaten so much as a piece of burnt toast afterward and yet, he didn’t feel tired. Honestly, he almost felt energized, ready to get up and face the day. 

Was this how Edge always felt in the morning? That was kind of terrifying. No wonder only half of the brotherly teams got to be energetic, hell, just thinking about Red waking up with his battery fully charged was giving him the creeps, he’d probably try to take over the world. 

Thinking of that little pain-in-the-ass goblin made him wince. He really hoped Red was doing okay. There were no text messages waiting for him, but maybe Edge knew. 

Welp, may as well get up and go find out. Maybe they’d be going on with the shitty continuation of opposite week, where he got to be the protective one, Edge got to lay around all day, and both of them would be a lot happier when things got back to normal.

The bedroom was a little chilly outside the toasty warm blankets, enough that he scrambled over to where his bathrobe was hung on the back of the bedroom door. Stretch slipped it on over his bare bones. Real clothes could come after coffee. He opened the door and that was when he heard muffled voices that were definitely not from the television. Kinda early for reasonable visitors and Stretch tightened the belt on his bathrobe, no point in giving a free show, and peered downstairs to see what sort of nefarious characters decided to drop by this time. 

Honestly, they needed one of those prohibited door signs, except they could cross off ‘solicitors’ and write in ‘drama’. Stretch had pretty much had his fill of that sort of excitement, thanks.

But nefarious probably wasn’t the best way to describe the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Monsters who were standing at their kitchen door with Edge. Familiar Monsters, actually, Stretch thought they worked at the Embassy. In their hands were mops and carriers loaded with cleaning supplies. Their pointed ears swiveled in his direction and they looked up in unison, both giving him a wave as they went into the kitchen, although what the hell that wary look was for, he wasn’t sure. Usually he wasn’t considered the scary skeleton in the closet in this relationship.

Usually.

Edge was leaning on his crutches and as soon as Stretch got a good look, relief flooded his soul. He was looking pretty bright-eyed himself even minus the tail, and his smile was warm.

“Good morning, love.” Edge called up. There was no sign left of his near-breakdown the night before, so maybe a snuggly night’s sleep did him some good. Firmly competent looked like the phrase of the day and Stretch was down with that, he really was. 

30 seconds on the stairs seemed like a criminal waste of time this morning and Stretch shortcutted down instead, very nearly right on top of Edge. He happily ignored his husband’s exasperated sigh, stealing a kiss before he murmured, “mornin’. what’s going on?”

Not that he couldn’t guess, they probably weren’t using the mops to whip up a five-course meal. 

Once Edge was finished shaking his head in fond resignation over unnecessary teleportation, he pulled him close, trying to work out a way to hold him around the crutches. It took him a minute to whomp up a strategy that let him lean a little weight on Stretch, the rest on a carefully balanced crutch, and none at all on his casted foot, and only then did Edge offer up a lingering return kiss of his own. 

By the time, he drew back, Stretch almost forgot his own question and Edge’s satisfied smirk meant he knew it, even as he said, “Sans sent a team over to check on our kitchen. What’s left of it. He explained to them about how the experiment you were doing went wrong and they’re going to handle the mess. I’m sure he would have brought them himself, but Red is still sleeping off that hangover.”

Coded message received, Red was doing okay. But it was the previous little tidbit that cut through his relief and brought his thoughts to a screeching halt. His mouth dropped open, excuse me, _his_ experiment? And he couldn’t say a damn thing, not with those guys working in the kitchen with the satellite dishes they had for ears all prepped to listen in on some sweet gossip. All he could do was glare at Edge, whose eye lights glittered with obvious amusement. 

Dude, not cool. That was going to be all over the Embassy and probably topple the whole ‘showing up naked in a sheet’ as his highest rated fiasco. What a dick move, he liked to come up with his own disasters, thanks, he didn’t need help. Except, of the two of them, people would buy him blowing up the kitchen over Edge at about a thousand to one ratio. Which was probably why Sans came up with that scenario to begin with. 

Stretch sighed. Welp, the cover story was out there and now they had to roll with it. Yeah, okay, he could take one for the team, but if he was taking the heat for this, it better have a reward, sexual favors preferred, and not from Sans, either. 

He and Edge could discuss a payment plan later. 

“that was very nice of sans,” Stretch gritted out. He jerked his head towards the kitchen. “are they even going to be able to clean it all up?”

“Possibly, but I’m not going to try.” Edge gave him another light kiss around his scowl, then let go and headed for the sofa. His small groan of relief as he put his foot up was a pretty damn big clue that he’d probably been standing too long. “I’ve decided with the amount of damage, I’d like to do a full remodel, instead.”

“yeah?” He knelt down to help Edge get his casted foot settled on the pillows. Most of the red paint on it was cleared away, leaving the drawings and signatures underneath tinted pink but it didn’t look too bad. Which meant Edge was probably up way too early if he’d gotten that cleaned up, the brat.

But back on subject before his brain train rattled off the wrong way. Huh, kitchen remodel. Edge had been living here for a few years before Stretch, and the kitchen was definitely his personal territory so if he wanted a makeover, totally his choice. To be honest, he’d sort of expected Edge to be distraught over his kitchen, but right now, he seemed pretty damn serene. 

“i mean, yeah, you should. treat yourself.” He gave Edge a sour look, adding dryly, “not like i can complain, since i did ruin your kitchen and all. with my ‘experiments’.” Since their cleaning crew could hear but not see, he went ahead and gave it the whole finger quotes treatment. Probably needed to get Sans to give him the details about ‘the wreckening’, unless his plan was to go all ‘we don’t talk about science club’ with it.

A gloved hand smoothed over his skull, ripe with silent apology. Stretch leaned into it and let it mollify him, for now. “Today they’re only handling basic cleaning up. I’ll contact the building team and see when they’ll be available, and we can work out a plan. Did you want to help me pick out new tile?”

Uh. About as much as he wanted to install a few chalkboards around the house and give ‘em a good scratch whenever he walked by. 

Edge must’ve read that off his face like a headline, because his mouth curved in faint amusement. “Then I’d like to ask a favor.”

“anything.” Seriously, picking out tile with Edge sounded as entertaining as weekend plans to watch paint dry. No pun intended.

“Someday, I will teach you all to ask for terms before agreeing so readily,” Edge murmured, almost to himself, then louder, “I have a couple pairs of trousers that I’d like you to take into the tailor for alterations. I’ve already spoken to them and given them measurements, but I need for the pant leg to fit around my cast for when I go back to work next week. I’m afraid my current attire doesn’t exactly fit with dress code.”

Edge looked down at himself in distaste and Stretch had to agree; it’d been pretty weird to see Edge lounging around in shorts all week long. Not that Stretch was complaining, he was fine with bare bones, even put up a good argument for it, which Edge successfully disputed with a firm ‘no’. Of course, he’d paired those shorts with plain t-shirts, no sweaters or button-ups even if he was chilly, because Angel forbid he doesn’t match, seriously, Edge might lose his membership to ‘Sharp Dressed Monthly’. But yeah, if he went into the Embassy dressed like that, they might arrest him as like, a spy or a clone or something. 

“yeah, you gotta follow dress code. you don’t want janice to have to punish you for being a bad boy,” Stretch said, slyly, just to see if he could get Edge’s socket to twitch. “that’s my job.”

Edge ignored that because he was boring that way. “A sense of normalcy would be much appreciated as well.”

That had a certain weariness layered beneath it and Stretch tossed his playfulness on a mental shelf for later use. He settled a hand over Edge’s gloved one, squeezing gently as he asked softly, “babe? you okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine.” His firm tone of voice was pretty convincing, but, maybe he wasn’t quite as okay as he seemed? Hard to tell and there was no way Edge wasn’t going to put up a good front with anyone else in the house. “I did want to ask, have you considered allowing me to speak with your therapist for my assessment? I’m not trying to rush you, there’s plenty of time, I’m only working on planning out my week.”

“i--” Stretch sank back on his heels, swallowing hard. He hadn’t considered it, honestly, he’d mostly forgotten about it with everything else going on. 

He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it, but it made his soul feel weirdly tight and itchy. If Edge spoke to his therapist, she’d be talking to him knowing all the things Stretch had told her in confidence, all the things he hadn’t even been able to speak of to Edge. Those were the sessions he was speaking more to the carpet than his therapist, but it was still a relief to get it out, lancing mental wounds he’d had for so long he barely noticed the pain anymore. But, so what, did he really think she’d be blabbing it to Edge? Her experiences with him and Sans probably made her the most qualified Human on the planet to help Edge through any problems or trauma. She’d take good care of him, and suddenly the choice was an easy one. 

He reached out and cupped Edge’s face in his hand, fingertips grazing the crack through his socket. “you know what, yeah. call her. i trust you both.”

“Thank you,” Edge told him with quiet sincerity. He took Stretch’s hand in both his own, drawing it over to press a light kiss against his knuckles. “For trusting me.” Then he promptly betrayed it by shifted his grip to Stretch’s wrist and _pulled_ , toppling him into his lap. He yelped, trying to keep most of his weight off Edge before he hurt his fool self, but it was useless with Mister Grabby Hands holding on tight. “And I’m sorry, what was that about me being a bad boy? I think you’re the one who gets into the most trouble in this relationship, hmmm?”

“you’d think, but i ain’t the one with a broken foot...edge!” He squealed a laugh as Edge gave him a poke in the ribs, right where he was most ticklish. He let up for a second, letting Stretch catch his breath, only to double down, tickling madly while Stretch squirmed and shrieked. One leg kicked out without his permission, narrowly missing a lamp on the side table, and Stretch gasped out through laughter, “stop! haven’t we broken enough lately?”

Before Edge could offer his opinion on that, heck, maybe he was hoping to remodel the living room, too, the kitchen door swung open and two burly Monsters bustled on out, mops in hand and just in time to catch a front row seat.

“Okay, so we’ve got the worst of--whoops, sorry!”

The tall guy took an instinctive step back, right into the shorter one, who hastily turned to try getting out of the way. Only he forgot about the mop in his hands, and it turned with him, smacking his companion in the face with a wet slap. That sent his buddy reeling, swinging around to give the mop treatment right back.

While they were working on their Stooges impression, Stretch hastily scrambled out of Edge’s lap to his feet, barely avoiding the fingertips that tried to snag onto him again, not this time, brat. That didn’t stop the heat of a blush scalding across his cheek bones as he yanked his robe down modestly, yeah, there was more gossip for the Embassy, if Tall Boy and The Short One ever stopped sputtering through their facefuls of dirty mop. 

A glance at Edge didn’t help, either, his face was schooled to calmness already, not even cracking a smile at the comedy gold in front of him. How was it he managed to look cool and professional with one foot in a cast and gym shorts? He probably didn’t even need to modify his trousers, one sharp look would shut any complainers right up. Even his damn t-shirt looked freshly ironed. Meanwhile, Stretch was feeling kinda sweaty and unwashed in his bathrobe, and he hadn’t even had coffee yet. A mop in the face might even feel refreshing right about now, but that seemed like a thought best kept to himself.

“Thank you for your help,” Edge said evenly, sitting as regal as a King on his…uh…sofa. The two Stooges paused, and the power of Edge’s gaze seemed like enough to straighten them out, both of them turning back to Edge, nodding and smiling.

“Hey, no problem!” Tall Boy said heartily. “Anything to help out you and Sans.”

“Yeah, no problem, anything to help out,” The Short One agreed. “If you have any other...erm...” He slanted a knowing look at Stretch, like he hadn’t been re-enacting an entire slapstick routine two minutes ago right in their living room, “…experiment issues, give us a call.”

”oh, i sure will,” Stretch muttered darkly. “for all my ‘experiment issue’ needs.” He stalked over to the front door and held it open, forcing a smile, “but thanks guys, really appreciate it.”

Took a few more head bobs, but eventual Stretch managed to herd them out the door, mops and all. When he turned back to Edge, his head was dropped back against the sofa, his sockets closed. That stoic mask faded back a bit, leaving behind weariness.

Yeeeah, that disguise was slipping more by the minute. Stretch sat back down next to him. “babe, are you sure you’re okay? lotta shit went down yesterday.”

Edge opened his sockets and offered him a faint smile. “Yes.” He reached out and ran his thumb gently across Stretch’s cheek bone. “I’m only a little tired.” His smile turned wry. “I can guess some of what you’re thinking, you know. Yesterday was difficult, and yes, my kitchen is important to me. But I’ve been very recently reminded that nothing is as important as the people in my life. You’re safe, my brother is safe. Your brother, Sans, Papyrus, Jeff and Antwan. Everyone I care about is safe. It’s something to be grateful for, isn’t it?”

“yeah, it is,” Stretch agreed slowly. It was, but it didn’t mean Edge could turn off his emotions about it like a water spigot or even that he should. Maybe it was a good thing Edge was gonna be talking to his therapist; if nothing else, she was damn talented at finding the X marks the spot to dig at. Stretch knew that from personal, and painful, experience. “we’ll get the kitchen taken care of, so long as no one gives those two hammers.”

“Cleaning duty is probably better for everyone involved,” Edge agreed.

Understatement. “it’ll take me a little while in town, why don’t you take a nap while i’m gone?”

It was mostly a rhetorical question, so he was surprised when Edge nodded. “I will, love. And I won’t touch any work until you get back.”

Good enough.

By the time he fed the chickens, got dressed, and headed back downstairs, Edge was already asleep, his foot propped on the sofa arm and the rest of him hidden beneath the fluffy blanket from the back of the couch. That was good, let him rest, let him find his balance again. Tempting as it was to straightened the blanket or give that much-loved skull a pat, Stretch kept his hands to himself. Better not to take the chance of startling him, Toriel wouldn’t be happy if he voided her warranty, but damn if he didn’t want to. 

For all his doubts, the Stooges actually did a pretty good job of cleaning up the kitchen. The remains of the table were cleared away and so was the worst of the paint. Stretch poured himself a travel mug of coffee before heading out to the bus stop, garment bag in hand.

A stop at the tailors to get his baby some real pants would help him get back in the direction of the normal Edge was craving. He hoped. Looked like Opposite Week wasn’t quite finished yet but that was okay. Stretch didn’t mind getting to be the protector, for once.

-fin


	2. Blue and Papyrus

* * *

The midtown traffic was slow, caught in the hours between the morning rush and lunchtime. Blue preferred it that way, carefully guiding his little car along the road. Of course he was a perfectly capable driver, but honestly, the way some people on the road acted when a person dared to drive the speed limit was shameful. 

On the seat next to him was a colorfully wrapped box, tied with a neat, curly-tailed bow. Blue wasn’t entirely sure about the gift yet, but a few of the young aides at the Embassy assured him that a handheld gaming system would be an excellent gift for someone who couldn’t get up and around like they were used to. He hoped so; it was as much of an apology as it was a gift, and Blue would hate to do poorly with either.

Normally when he drove through Ebott, Blue had the GPS up on his phone, the sedate voice guiding him along. Today, he hadn’t bothered. He was unfortunately very familiar with the route to Ebott hospital. 

Back in Underswap whenever Pappy was ill, Blue took care of him on his own, fretting and caring for him and he never took his brother’s occasional snappishness personally. It wasn’t his fault, he was sick, and that tended to make him grumpy, was all. Here in Ebott, there were doctors to back him up who would urge Pappy to stay in bed when he was ill and be taken care of, to eat nutritious meals that were brought to him, and to quit smoking, rather than stubbornly trying to do things his own way. 

His HP was _delicate_ , he needed someone to take care of him. 

Or so Blue had always thought. 

Not all that long ago, it frustrated him beyond words to see Edge simply allowing Pappy to do as he wished, though Blue never said as much, oh, no. Pappy was an adult and he was married. Blue needed to allow them to make their own way, even if that way was terribly wrong and his Pappy was going to end up ill or worse. 

He wondered now at his own pettiness back then, cringing at his occasional, secretive daydreams where Edge would call him frantically about his brother being sick or hurt, and Blue would come in, blazing with healing magic to save him. 

After getting to live that particular daydream, Blue could firmly say that the reality of it was a great deal less satisfying than he’d hoped. 

Even after that, he’d still believed Edge was wrong with the way he handled his brother. But he’d stood back, trying not to cling as his brother drifted further away from him, greedily snatching up any chance that came his way to offer some expertise whenever Pappy was sick and hurt because he knew, he _knew_ that eventually, they’d come to their senses and take his advice, hopefully before it was too late. Every illness or injury made that sick throb of dread start up in Blue’s chest again, that perhaps this was it, this was the time that--it was too horrible to think of and Blue firmly set the thought aside. 

All he could do was keep trying to coax Pappy and Edge around to his way of thinking. Blue _believed_ that...right up until his conversation with Embassy counselor, Tiffanye. 

It was supposed to have been a simple mental health assessment. Everyone involved with the recent unfortunateness was required to do it and Blue certainly didn’t mind. He liked talking to people and if a quick chat would reassure Asgore that he was up to returning to work, well, Blue wasn’t about to argue about it like some people. 

The reality of it wasn’t quite what he’d expected. 

Tiffanye listened, certainly, and asked questions, but they weren’t questions that Blue was expecting. Somehow, she’d taken a simple conversation about the events in California and latched on to an idle comment about him being glad that Edge didn’t allow his brother to come along. 

How it was she’d picked that word ‘allow’ apart so…intensely, Blue still wasn’t sure, but she had, and suddenly Blue found himself backtracking, trying to explain he didn’t mean it like _that_ , until their hour was up. He supposed they’d talk about it again at his next session, the one she’d scheduled without asking. He very nearly declined, his mouth already open to assure her that he wasn’t the one who needed therapy, except--

Except. One of the things she’d asked in that calm, easy way of hers was why he was so sure he knew the proper way to handle Pappy, and he’d discovered that he couldn’t answer. Pappy was his brother, yes, but could he say now that he knew Pappy better than anyone? Their day to day lives changed so completely when they’d arrived here, and then even more when Pappy moved out. Blue so desperately wanted to say that yes, he knew best, he did and...he couldn’t. 

He wondered somewhat sourly what other perceptions Tiffanye was going to pick apart. Somehow, solving puzzles was less fun when he was the puzzle in question. 

But yes, he knew the way Ebott General all too well, knew the best place to park, and the path through the hallways to take when he visited Pappy. Today, though, he wasn’t visiting his brother. Today Pappy was doing just fine, he hoped, at home doing a little caretaking of his own and trying to keep what Blue suspected was likely a very surly Edge off his foot to allow for it to heal.

(and oh, the look on Pappy’s face at the airport, that desperate pain when he saw Blue, the way it deepened when they brought Edge down, he never wanted to see that again, never, not for anything in the world, and the smug confidence that carried him home, knowing that Edge was right to leave him behind broke apart as Blue flung himself into his brother’s waiting arms)

No, today he was visiting Papyrus, who was still there despite all the care and rest he was getting. 

Blue’s memories of it all were honestly a bit of a jumbled mess. He had a vague recollection of painfully crawling along the pavement afterward, the sound of the explosion still ringing in his skull, the distant screaming, the heat of it coming through even the shield that Papyrus threw out. 

He...didn’t like thinking about that.

The only memory that was very clear was of Papyrus pushing both him and Sans to the ground, his lanky body on top of them, and his shield holding, right up to the point where it didn’t. That was when Papyrus had been thrown away from them and Blue very much wished that the sound of his skull impacting with the pavement was one that he had the option to forget.

The nurse in the ward gave Blue a slight smile and waved him on. Blue walked down the hallway to the room number he’d known for the two weeks belonged to Papyrus and never went to, taking a deep breath and knocking on the door. 

“Come in!” It was loud even through the closed door; not even an injury could stifle Papyrus’s enthusiasm.

When Blue stepped inside, he found Papyrus sitting up in the bed and his delight at seeing Blue was warming. “Good morning, salutations, and welcome!”

“Good morning,” Blue said with a smile. There was an underlying desperation in that greeting. Poor Papyrus was probably at his wit’s end after so many days lying in bed. It made the guilt already sitting heavily in Blue’s chest give his soul an extra little kick. “I’m so sorry, I wish I’d been here to see you sooner, but--”

“Stuff and nonsense,” Papyrus scoffed. “You’ve been very busy!” He had, but they all had, the entire Embassy. It was hardly an excuse. Already his eye lights were straying to the hairline crack still visible in Papyrus’s skull and he forcibly pulled them away, refocusing. 

It was just difficult to see, was all. Papyrus looked a great deal like his brother, the only real difference was Papyrus’s lack of eye lights, and with him sitting here in a hospital bed wearing ridiculous pajamas with pictures of hot dogs and mustard scattered over them, the resemblance was almost eerie. 

But that was ridiculous. All Papyrus had to do was open his mouth and the illusion was broken. Blue pushed that silliness aside and held out the box, saying brightly, “I brought you a present!”

“I should say you didn’t need to, but it would be a lie because I love presents!” Papyrus took the box happily, giving it a gentle shake. “Though I’m not sure why because we don’t have birthdays and you already sent me some puzzle books last week.”

“I wanted to--” thank you, was what Blue meant to say. He owed Papyrus his life, no bones about it. But Papyrus interrupted before he could, settling the unopened box in his lap.

“Thank you very much for the present, I’ll open it in a moment. First, I’d like to ask you a favor and hope that it isn’t rude because I wasn’t expecting a present and now it seems like I want two,” Papyrus announced, and Blue smiled, a little helplessly.

“A favor isn’t a present,” Blue pointed out, “because you can’t give it for Gyftmas. I’d be happy to give one, if you tell me what it is.”

“Wonderful! You see, the doctors tell me that they will be letting me go home soon. Luckily, I have a hard skull,” Papyrus mimed knocking on it and Blue struggled not to flinch. “Only they have reasonable expectations that I am not to live on my own yet because sometimes when I stand up, I also fall down.”

“You _what_ …?”

“So they want me to have a caretaker,” Papyrus went on, relentlessly. “My brother is not much for care or taking, either one or both, and he is going to be staying with Red for a while.”

“Red and Sans are taking up housekeeping together?” That was a juicy bit of gossip. Surprising except really not, if anyone paid a hair of attention, or rather, stayed in a room next to them when they were traveling, honestly, they could learn to keep it down.

Papyrus laughed heartily. “No, no, no, there will not be any housekeeping and I’m sure Edge and I will be forced to go shovel their trash collection away at least twice a year to keep it from overtaking the town. No, Sans said they are living together so they can do their sex things there and not in poor, unsuspecting brother’s hospital rooms.” A lack of eye lights did not in any way hinder Papyrus from turning on the puppy dog eyes. “But! I thought perhaps you would be willing to help?”

Oh. “You want me to stay with you?”

Papyrus beamed as if he’d solved a very complex puzzle. “Yes! At least for a little while and mostly at night. You were a very good caretaker, I told them, when AndyJeff stayed with you.”

“I…” _I am a very good caretaker._ He was. He knew best, he had to know best. He had to. 

The little door at the back of his mind where he stuffed things he didn’t want to think about was shaking, the lock weakened by Tiffanye’s questions earlier that week.

He was a good caretaker, he knew best, he had to, and...and if Pappy had come along to California, he might have...he would have…

He would have tried to shield Blue the same way Papyrus had, only without the generous HP to back it. Papyrus, who looked so much like his brother, more than Edge ever could, who went by Pappy’s name and wore Pappy’s face. His Pappy, always the big brother. Even at his worst moments, he never really forgot it. Pappy who only listened to Blue’s scolding at his own whims and he was excellent at sensing Intent, better than Sans, much better than Edge, and he would have known, would have tried to shield them, and he would have…

Blue didn’t notice the warm wetness trickling from his sockets, didn’t know how long he stood there before Papyrus said his name, his exuberance softened with concern, “Blue?”

Not Sans, not anymore, no one called him Sans, not even Pappy. Papyrus wasn’t his brother and Blue pushed past those reaching hands anyway, crushing the gift box between them to bury his face against the soft pajama shirt Papyrus was wearing. His tears soaked through it immediately. A gentle hand settled on the back of his skull, holding him in and maybe Papyrus wasn’t his brother, didn’t sound like him at all as he crooned soft, nonsense words of comfort, didn’t smell like the honey-sweetness he knew so very well. 

But he was here and he was kind, and Papyrus let him cry until Blue felt sick with it, his face sticky with used magic. Blue drew away with a hiccuping breath, searching through his pockets for a handkerchief. 

Papyrus handed him a tissue before he could, let him mop up his face before he asked, “Are you all right?”

Blue nodded, not quite trusting his voice. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Papyrus plucked at the wilted ribbon on the crumpled box still in his lap. 

“You didn’t,” Blue managed. His voice was thin and hoarse, but it was there. “I think I was already upset.” He lifted his chin determinedly. “But if you want me to help you, I will.”

Papyrus brightened. “You’ll come stay with me, then? Maybe we can take care of each other.” So very sincere and Blue nodded again. 

Yes, that seemed like the right decision. These days Jeff stayed over at Antwan's more often than not, anyway. They could help take care of each other.

But he might mention it to Tiffanye. Just in case. 

“Let me know when they’re releasing you and I can bring you home,” Blue told him. Somehow, Papyrus’s smile made it easier to find his own. “Now, open your present.”

-fin-


	3. Barista, Tailor...

* * *

Stretch shifted in his bus seat, garment bag over his knees and his eye lights carefully focused on his phone screen. 

He’d only taken the bus once since the whole incident in California, but the one that ran the Embassy route usually didn’t have as many Humans as this one to downtown Ebott.

Today he could feel the looks from other people, Humans, crawling up his spine and it was a little hard to ignore. No one approached him at least, ready to spit some extra-strength vitriol into his lap, so they were probably just curious. That did happen sometimes, either because he was a little bit Twitter famous or because he was just a Monster in general. People frequently took discreet pictures of him or videos, and he tried not to take it personally. Heck, Keanu Reeves got the same treatment when he took the subway.

Stretch sometimes found those pictures on instagram or twitter. Depending on the caption, he’d even comment, hey, being amicable about the amateur paparazzi was probably good public relations. 

But it was one of the reasons he usually wore headphones on the bus, even if, like today, he didn’t have them turned on. Friendly was good and well, but sometimes there weren’t enough spoons in the drawer, and headphones acted as a decent barrier of sorts to that shit. 

Not that a lack of spoons was a problem today. He still felt weirdly energized after pouring his all into healing Red. What he honestly felt was hungry, hell, starving, his magic pleading for a quick snack or maybe a ten-course meal. Coffee he’d remembered to bring along, but with Edge out of commission, the level of baked goods in their house was hitting critically low levels. 

Hm. The stop for the Beanery was coming up and it wouldn’t take up too much time for a side quest into pastry retrieval. Getting Edge's trousers to the tailor could wait a couple mo'.

When the bus rolled to a halt, Stretch hopped eagerly down the steps to the sidewalk. He could already taste those sweet, sweet lemon bars, might even pick up a cinnamon roll for Edge while he was in. He took a moment to dump out the dregs of his morning coffee, might as well get a refill while he was here, and headed in. 

The bell jangling cheerily overhead was the same as always, but there was nothing normal about the way the entire shop froze in their tracks when they saw him. Baristas and patrons alike stopped and stared, and Stretch froze right along with them, resisting the urge to glance behind him, cause he was pretty sure he was what they were looking at and not some other skeleton Monster that crept in on his heels. 

“um, hi?” he tried, lifting a hand in an awkward wave. 

That seemed to get the record playing again. Before he could even lower his hand, Debbie was around the counter, Jennie and Daniel at her heels, paying no mind to the line of people waiting at the counter. Then again, none of them looked put out by the barista parade, they only stood and watched as Debbie dashed up to him and flung both her arms around his ribcage, almost making him drop the garment bag. Jennie joined her, and Daniel, and Stretch only stood there bewildered, caged in Human arms and patting whatever heads and shoulders he could reach. 

“um, hey, guys? sorry i haven’t been in, things have been a little weird.”

“We know, dear,” Debbie said finally ,and to Stretch’s horror, when she pulled away, she drew up her apron to wipe at her eyes. “We’ve been watching everything on the news. Oh, sweetie, how is Edge doing?”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Well, fuck, he knew a few internet sleuths had figured out that Edge was one of the Monsters hurt even if he was such a stickler for privacy that his name wasn’t in any of the reports. Stretch hadn’t even considered that the people who knew Edge would be worried out of their skulls, fuck, he’d been home for almost a week, had no one bothered to let the Beanery in on it? What about Thomas at the book shop, he knew Edge, too...but no, he’d probably texted Andy. 

Stretch abruptly realized the entire shop was waiting for an answer. Humans that he didn’t know by name, but whose faces he recognized, shop regulars who probably followed him on Twitter, nodding a greeting every time Stretch stopped in. Asgore hadn’t wanted him to post on Twitter about what happened because he was afraid it would open a can of worms and get people asking him questions that he probably shouldn’t answer.

(Which honestly, it wasn’t fair. Wasn’t his fault his fingers worked faster than his brain.)

But obviously radio silence on Twitter wasn’t the answer either, not from all the worried faces around him. He needed to have a chat with Asgore on that front, but first it was time for some damage control. 

“He’s fine,” Stretch said, loud enough for everyone in the shop to hear, “seriously, he’s doing okay. he’s a little banged up, he’d got a temporary cast on one leg, but he’ll be up again with a coffee craving in no time.”

To his dismay, instead of being reassured, Debbie burst into full-fledged tears and hugged him again. He leaned down to wrap both arms around her, squeezing tight, until her sobs trailed away. 

“I’m sorry, dear,” Debbie pulled away and grabbed a napkin from one of the tables, wiping at her eyes. “It’s only...i was so worried.”

“We were all worried,” Jennie put in. Debbie’s niece was like a younger, taller version of her, complete with her own tears. Behind her, Daniel was nodding along. “When we saw that awful video. But when we called the Embassy, they couldn’t tell us anything.”

Ah, shit, of course they wouldn't, especially not about Edge since he wasn’t supposed to be a public figure. And they probably hit Andy with a gag order, too, so he wouldn’t even be able to say much. 

Welp. Stretch didn’t work for the Embassy, thanks, and Asgore only mentioned Twitter. If they didn’t want him talking to people’s faces, they should’ve sewn up any loopholes before they let him out on the street. 

“he’s fine, i promise,” Stretch said firmly, then he reconsidered. “deb, do you have a cell phone?” 

Debbie blinked, but pulled an iphone out of her pocket. It was older and the screen was cracked, and Stretch made a mental note to deal with that somehow, but that would be later. For now, he opened up her contact list and added his number, labeling it ‘Skeletor’s Second Cousin.’

As he typed, he said, “next time, call me, okay? not that i want a next time but, you get me. call, text, whatever. i’ll tell you what i can.”

Debbie nodded, still a little teary, and backed away enough to let Julia and Daniel get in another quick hug before they headed back behind the counter. 

“Come on, let me get you a drink,” Debbie said briskly. She took hold of Stretch’s elbow, leading him up to the counter like a lost lamb, “You look like you’re on your way somewhere.” Stretch followed meekly along after her like a good little sheep. Not like letting her get in a little mom-ing was gonna hurt. 

He allowed Debbie to steal his travel mug, watching as she worked her magic to fill it. “yeah, edge needs some of his pants altered if he’s gonna be able to wear them with a cast, so i’m headed down to the tailor.”

Debbie actually paused, lips pursed, “I see. Let me throw in an extra shot of espresso, I have a feeling you may need it.”

* * *

Not much time later, Stretch had a chance to really appreciate Debbie’s foresight. 

He knew the Monster tailor, Bruno, as a casual sort of acquaintance but not so much professionally, not since he’d been fitted for his wedding tux. Stretch’s style tended towards either off the rack or out of Edge’s side of the closet, and that was about as far as he liked to think about clothes. 

His husband, on the other hand, probably had his t-shirts professionally tailored. Not that Stretch was about to complain, heck no, not when he got to reap the benefits of that view. 

But it did kinda leave him in the position to be standing awkwardly, listening to Bruno moan about the travesty he was about to commit on some perfectly good trousers. 

“It won’t work!” Bruno declared, for about the fifth time if someone was counting, and Stretch really, really was. “There is barely enough material in his trousers for his legs, he expects me to maybe coax the silk worms into adding more for a cast?”

Stretch shrugged and took a sip of his coffee, munching on his last lemon bar as he watched the tailor pace. Everything on the overflowing tables rattled with every stomping step he took, the pictures on the walls hanging ever more crooked. Stretch couldn’t say he minded, it was kinda like getting a free show. 

The sigh Bruno heaved was loud enough to shift all the pictures another inch, “The only way it might work is if I cut the seam all the way up the side and find a way for him to fasten them. The trousers won’t go over the cast, but he will at least be covered.”

“think velcro’s been proven to work,” Stretch offered idly. Even he shrank away from the look of pure distaste Bruno gave him, the void flickering in his vision as he almost shortcutted out to the sidewalk and to heck with the pants. Bruno was one of the rare Monsters who towered over him, with a pair of gleaming ivory fangs peeking out from his lips, the curling horns towering over his head well-polished. From the look of his shop, business was flourishing, which just proved that Human problems with Monsters wasn’t the way they looked.

“Is he planning on tearing them away in the middle of a meeting with heads of state?” Bruno sniffed. “Perhaps do a little dance for them?”

“uh...i hope not?” Stretch offered meekly. “i mean, probably should order a g-string too if that’s on the table.”

Bruno went on as if Stretch hadn’t said a word. “No, he is not. Hook and eye would work, buttons would be more secure, but.” He shook his head with grave misery, “No. he won't like it. No matter what I do, he won’t like any of it. No.” Bruno heaved a sigh worthy of any swooning Victorian heroine, sagging into a huge, squashy chair that creaked ominously. “I’ll do it, but I’m afraid he’s not going to like any adjustment I come up with. I certainly hope he doesn’t tell anyone he’s wearing one of my creations!”

“i’ll let him know to keep the business cards to himself for now.” Stretch leaned against the counter, plucking up a business card of his own to weave through his fingers. Oh, he was gonna regret asking, he knew it, but he was reluctantly curious. That might kill a cat, but hopefully skeletons got off for free. “okay, so, if what edge is asking for won’t work, what would you recommend?”

Bruno brightened instantly, illuminating like a newborn sun and clapped his huge hands with such exuberance that Stretch took a step back. “Ah, well! When it comes to something like a cast, there are a few options, oh, let me think!” He stroked a finger down one long fang, considering, “you both have such slender legs, but very shapely. Ah!” Stretch waited with morbid curiosity, almost expecting to see a bubble with the word ‘eureka’ come spilling out of the tailor’s ear. “I have it! I think he would be dashing in a business kilt!”

A what? “a kilt,” Stretch said, flatly. “that’s what you’re saying. that’s the big idea. not exactly original, is it.”

“Yes, yes, a kilt,” Bruno flapped an impatient hand at him, “and original isn't the question or suitcoats would have died out a hundred years ago! A sedate pattern, of course, nothing too flashy, not for Embassy work.” Yeah, as if that was Stretch’s big concern, that Edge might get stuck with something more appropriate for disco inferno than a business meeting. Then again, bell bottoms might work... “With a kilt cut jacket and tie, oh, yes, something in a dark wool, I think.” Bruno stood and marched over, Stretch bouncing along with every step, until he could lean in to whispered conspiratorially, “He’d look scrumptious and I don’t think I need to tell you that should be his natural state of being.”

“scrumptious.” Stretch repeated slowly, tasting the word. Yeah, okay, he kind of liked that one in the same sentence as Edge, he could warm up to this idea. “how long would it take to make something like that?”

Bruno’s expression turned into one from the sly family, his little smile widening to a toothy grin. “It’s entirely possible I have something in the works right now that might be _suitable._ If you’ll excuse the pun.”

Uh huh. He sure knew his clientele, didn’t he. “sold. let me know when i can pick it up.”

“I’ll have it done by the end of the week, along with the...trousers.” His distaste from the last word faded into a certain disturbing gleam that began to shine in Bruno’s eye and before Stretch could flee, he took hold of Stretch’s elbow, gripping firmly, “Now. Why don’t we see what I can do for you?”

“what? wait, no, i’m just here for edge!” Stretch tried, digging in his heels as Bruno began to pull. His sneakers squeaked on the tile as he slid along in the direction of the dressing rooms. “no, don’t! help! i don’t need new clothes!”

“Nonsense!” Bruno scoffed, “Everyone can use an addition to their wardrobe. Particularly when you come to me dressed like that,” He paused, his face twisting into a moue of pure disgust as he tutted over a perfectly decent sweatshirt and pair of track pants. “I couldn’t possibly let anyone see you leaving my shop this way. No, no,” He shook his head, tugging Stretch determinedly along. “My reputation won’t have it. Come now, let’s see what I have for you.”

Stretch gulped and cast a longing look at the door as he was hauled inexorably towards the dressing rooms. 

Where was a damn explosion when you needed one?

* * *

-tbc-


	4. ...Lawyer, Spy

_Jeff(Andy), Antwan, Red, Sans_

* * *

Jeff could hear the shower running and that more even than any jangling alarm was a sign it was time to get up. Antwan was a stickler in the mornings, he had a routine to go through and he did it like missing out on a proper moisturizing would ruin the day. 

Not that Jeff was judging or anything; he couldn’t exactly argue that he didn’t appreciate the efforts. His own daily regiment tended not to have quite so many steps but even so, Jeff’s mental twin, Andy, was wishing that they could skip it all and stay in bed for the day, have a fierce game of ‘Word With Friends’ with Stretch be his most challenging task ahead. 

He wasn’t complaining about the workload, hell, no, especially not with so much on the line. Ever since the whole California disaster came down, the entire Embassy had been working feverishly. Public Relations in particular took a hard hit with Humans yet again questioning the safety of having Monster’s living among them. 

Jeff didn’t have a problem working hard. He’d spent a long time going to school full time and working alongside it, there’d been plenty of long days in his past. No other job had ever made him want to try so hard as this one. No days of dropping French fries in hot grease or shelving books could compare to knowing he was helping the people walking the streets of New New Home. Monsters who knew his name, who took the time to stop and chat with him or helped him out the time he got a flat tire. All of them depending on the Embassy to ensure they were able to live in this world. 

He couldn’t pretend it all wasn’t a little daunting. Before taking Edge’s job offer, his biggest concern was finding an antique book in time for some birthday or a special anniversary. But now he had the neighborhood kids to think about, the ones Stretch was always teaching experiments or playing games with. The stress was getting laid on thick and the past few nights his sleep had been interrupted by nightmares. 

Jeff sighed and rolled over, one hand absently settling over his abdomen where the scars were still pink and fresh. The dreams didn’t even have the kindness to be accurate and instead gave him exaggerated memories of pain and blood, of nightmarish men with grinning faces and knives for fingers with the sign for ‘Golden City’ hanging overhead like a bloated moon. 

He’d woken in the darkness of the bedroom, tasting sweat and tears. As tired as Antwan was, he seemed to have a spider-sense for those bad dream nights. He’d wake up and turn on the light, the dim yellow glow illuminating the room and showing Jeff that he wasn’t on a dirty sidewalk with cigarette butts getting squashed into his clothes. Nothing around them but furniture and shelves, surrounded by orderly life. Next step was to pull Jeff into his arms and soothing his fears away, murmuring over and over that he loved him, that he was safe, that everything was okay, until he was able to sleep again. 

It gave him a hell of a case of the guilts to keep Antwan up, but he still did it, settling into his arms, hoarding every single ‘I love you’ into his mental scrapbook. But the whole nightmare thing was stupid, and frustrating. Really, he hadn’t had this many problems when the whole stabbing actually happened. Why it was bothering him now, Jeff didn’t know, but if it had to be crawling out of the dark corners of his psyche to bother him, at least he could be grateful that Antwan was with him.

The shower was still running. Jeff reached over to grab one of Antwan’s pillows, burying his face against satin. It smelled like him, his cologne and shampoo that came in expensive-looking unmarked bottles. But not sex, not even a whiff of it, because they hadn’t done anything of the sort since the last time the sheets were washed. Mind and body were too tired, they both fell into bed, slept (or woke up to stupid nightmares), woke up, headed in to work. Wash, rinse, repeat. 

But. 

Jeff didn’t think he’d ever shared a bed with someone who was content just to sleep. Sex was usually a given, expected and doled out. Without it, the best he would have gotten in any of his past relationships was a weak offer to pay for an Uber.

It was…nice. To be able to lay in Antwan’s bed and not worry that the first thing out of his mouth would be ‘are you still here?’, but could be ‘I love you’ or ‘morning, baby,’ or even a quick question about going out to dinner before they came home.

Huh. Home. 

Jeff wondered what Antwan would think if he knew Jeff was calling it that in his head. He didn’t think he’d mind. He hoped he wouldn’t.

That made him think guiltily of Blue’s house. He only ever stopped in lately to change his clothes, stubbornly refusing to bring more than an overnight bag to Antwan’s. It felt cruel, they’d only been roommate for a couple of months and already Jeff was yearning to leave. With everything that happened, that painfully close call, all Jeff wanted was to pull Antwan closer and he kinda thought Antwan felt the same way. Plus, there was so much he had to handle right now, the Legal department was flooded with work and he wasn’t sure if Antwan even made it to see Edge yet. 

Of anyone, Edge would understand but it probably didn’t make Antwan any happier about it. 

The bathroom door opening interrupted his wallowing, Antwan wandered in from the shower with the towel on his hips dangerously low. Made for a hell of a nice view, especially when instead of beelining to the closet, he detoured to the bed, sitting on the edge and leaning in for a kiss. “Morning, baby.”

“My breath is awful,” Jeff protested weakly. 

“Don’t care.” But Antwan let Jeff keep it to a closed-mouth peck. When they drew apart, Antwan’s grin widened slyly. “I could give you a kiss someplace that won’t mind morning breath.”

“If you had time for that, you wouldn’t have taken a shower already,” Jeff said dryly, firmly instructing all places below the belt not to give in to the tease. 

Antwan leaned away with a groan. “You’re right, we have depositions this morning and I need to get in. Take a rain check, sweetheart.”

“I’ll add it to the collection.”

It was meant a as a tease, but Antwan swooped down on him again and his mouth was as fierce as his words, uncaring of morning breath. “You better. Once things get settled down, I expect you to call them in. When do you have to go in?”

“Not until this afternoon,” Jeff admitted. His lower half was starting to…ahem…raise a protest about all the teasing. A dirty pun, Stretch would be so proud. “Catty told me to sleep in a little.” What she’d actually said was it looked like he was trying to smuggle luggage under his eyes, so he better get a little more sleep before coming back in before he ended up with a full set of fake Louis Vuitton. 

One thing he was quickly learning was that the whole taking care of thing? It wasn’t just the skeleton Monsters who did it, plenty of others gave it their best shot. Perfect example, Janice, Edge’s assistant, brought muffins or treats down to the break room at least once a week. It hadn’t escaped Jeff’s notice that since Edge was out of commission, the style of those baked goods changed. Like maybe they were coming from a different kitchen, one attached to the Bun bakery, from a kind-hearted Bun lady who would feed up the Embassy for her boss until he returned.

And then there was Catty, brash and boisterous behind the scenes, but amazingly good at knowing the right thing to say in a press release or a speech. There was no hiding his exhaustion from her keen eyes and so he’d meekly agreed to come in later and sleep away his looming eye bags. If he was going to get any Louis Vuitton, he wanted it to be the real deal.

Still sitting on the bed, Antwan hummed thoughtfully. “This afternoon? Then can I get you to do a quick favor for me before you go in?”

That was unexpected. Curious. “Sure.”

Antwan went into the closet and when he came back out, he was regretfully wearing trousers but also carrying a small box, not much bigger than an Altoids tin. “Swing by Red’s place and drop this off. He’s out sick right now so he won’t be at the Embassy. It might have more impact coming from you, anyway. You know how to get there?”

He didn’t, but the address Antwan gave him wasn’t far. “What is it?”

Yeah, okay, that smile was kinda grim and evil. “He’ll know.”

Jeff took the box, warily. “I’d like to say now that I am opposed to getting in the middle of some kind of prank war between you and Red.”

“No pranks,” Antwan reassured him. “Fuck, no, I wouldn’t do that to you without hiring a bodyguard first. Ask him what they are.”

Yeaaaaah, that probably wasn’t gonna happen. Antwan disappeared back into the closet and Jeff rolled back over, planning on getting a little more of that sweet, sweet morning off sleep. Dealing with what was in the box could wait.

* * *

The address Antwan gave Jeff was for the neighborhood that everyone called Old New Home. He drove down the road curiously, tires crunching on the barely plowed pavement. From what he knew, not many Monsters still lived here. Stretch told him these houses were ones put up hastily when they’d first arrived, not much more than a roof over their heads and nothing like the nice, spacious homes everyone was living in now. Some Monsters hadn’t wanted to move, though, and Asgore didn’t force a new place on anyone. But it did mean that the streets were emptier than any others Jeff had seen. The houses weren’t falling down or anything, but most of them did give off an aura of disuse. 

The house with the number plate that Antwan gave him was only a step up. Nothing was shoveled but there were footsteps through the snow, leading up to the sidewalk and porch. The driveway was empty; come to think of it, he wasn’t sure Red owned a car, and the curtains were drawn tight over a picture window. 

There was no one on the street, the neighboring houses sat with empty, staring windows and untouched snow on their walkways. 

Yeah, wow, no Texas Chainsaw Massacre vibes here.

Jeff parked his car on the street and got out, box in hand. There was no way Antwan sent him on a morning death trip, Jeff told himself sternly, following the tamped down path to the door. For one, if Antwan wanted to get rid of him, there had to be easier ways than death by the semi-creepy skeleton gremlin he’d smoked weed with once.

He made it to the door and knocked lightly, hesitantly. Antwan said something about Red being sick and much as he wanted to shove the box at him and hightail it out, he didn’t really want to wake him if he was sleeping it off. 

What he did not expect was an entirely different short skeleton to answer the door. Jeff readjusted his perceptions from red to blue as Sans looked up at him. 

“heya, andy,” he yawned. He stepped back and held open the door “c’mon in.”

If Red had answered the door, Jeff probably would have shoved the box at him and left. He was Edge’s brother and he worked for the Embassy, so he had to be a good guy, but something about Red was so damned intense. Their private chat a little while ago in his office had been…illuminating and Jeff wouldn’t mind chatting with Red again, but only on his own turf.

Sans, though, he was something else. Jeff liked Sans; they’d done some work together a while back in Stretch’s old lab. Well, okay, Sans did the science and Jeff cleaned up, but still. He seemed a little like Stretch, all puns and hoodies, but Jeff wasn’t really convinced. 

He had a bead on everyone else; Edge was a stoic knight in need of some shining armor, and Stretch was the cuttingly brilliant court jester/magician. Red was wearing his secret agent gear and Blue was the caretaker, ready to hop in at any given moment with plenty of tea and opinions. Papyrus was the kid brother Jeff never had and always wanted and that left Sans as…what?

An enigma that was what, hiding secrets behind that permanent smile, and Jeff followed him into the house, asking, “Helping out Red while he’s sick?”

“somethin’ like that,” Sans said agreeably. He was wearing fuzzy pink slippers, socks sagging down his ankles. “want some coffee?”

“Um.” Jeff looked around. The house was…well. Jeff had lived in the college dorms and recently with four other guys crammed into an apartment, and none of those places had been quite this level of trashed. The sofa was sagging at an odd angle, standing despite what was probably a few broken struts. There was a fine litter of trash everywhere, the few clean places like islands with filled garbage bags in the middle. A tabby cat was on the coffee table, tail swishing as it stared at Jeff with deep, all-seeing eyes that made him want to shiver. Hell, if that was what cats were like in New New Home, no wonder Stretch didn’t like them.

Sans’s grin widened, clearly unoffended by Jeff’s lack of enthusiasm. “don’t worry, the kitchen is clean. c’mon, handy andy, caffeine is the best social lubricant they ever came up with.”

He was right about one thing, the kitchen was a lot cleaner and on the counter was a Keurig, the newest looking thing in the whole house. Sans brewed a cup for Jeff and handed it over, leaning against the counter while he started up a second. 

Sans waited long enough for Jeff to doctor his coffee with sugar and cream, then asked, “so what can i do for you?”

“Um, Antwan asked me to bring Red this box.” Jeff pulled it out of his pocket and set it on the table, plain and innocuous. Sans hummed curiously and grabbed his cup of coffee, wandering over to the table. 

He poked the box with an idle finger, “antwan did, huh. normally, that wouldn’t worry me too much, but he and red were squabbling not too long ago.”

“Squabbling?” That was news to him, he’d always thought Antwan and Red were at least okay friends. They had a regular outing on Wednesdays at the bar, talking about who the hell knew what, maybe only watching a game? Jeff wasn’t much into sports and a couple times, Jeff went to bed without Antwan on a Wednesday and got woken up by whiskey-sweet kisses that turned into some great sex. Hanging out with Red relaxed Antwan, usually, and Jeff had a vested interest in hoping those two weren’t on the outs. “About what?”

“oh, you know,” Sans said absently. He reached up, those bony fingers settling at his throat and for the first time Jeff noticed that over the collar of Sans’s shirt he was wearing what looked like a choker of some sort.

He’d never seen Sans wearing anything but his normal hoodie and shorts, with the only exception being Stretch and Edge’s wedding. Something that pretty on him almost seemed out of place, delicately tooled leather with an intricate buckle. 

“Wow, that’s really nice! Detailed work, is it new?” Jeff reached out without thinking and Sans slid back a step so smoothly it hardly looked like he moved at all. That woke his stupid ass up; for crying out loud, Sans was wearing a _collar_ with a heart buckle and he didn’t twig to it? A hot blush flooded his face as Jeff stammered out, “Oh, fuck, sorry! Of course, it’s personal, that was so stupid of me!”

“nah, it’s okay, andy, you didn’t know,” Sans’s easy grin didn’t fade one iota, perfectly cheerful. “it is new, still getting used to it.” Jeff nodded so hard his neck joints popped and Sans picked up the box, shaking it lightly. “any idea what it is?”

“Antwan told me to ask Red,” Jeff admitted. 

“huh. why don’t we find out?” 

Curiosity overwhelmed Jeff, drowning any guilt and leftover embarrassment. Hey, he wasn’t the one opening it, right?”

Sans slit open the tape holding the box closed with one bony finger, lifting the lid. His eye lights flared, a mini supernova of white, then dimmed back down, showing nothing but amusement. “heh, okay, hint taken.”

Jeff only frowned, peering at the contents. They looked like thumbtacks, cuff-links? He wasn’t sure, weird rounded bits of metal with pokey-looking ends. “What are they?”

“all the surveillance devices red hid in your place.”

Sans said it with such ease that it took a second for Jeff to actually hear the words. “Wait, _what?”_

Sans offered a lazy shrug. “it’s just audio and he keeps ‘em to the common areas, no bedrooms or johns. look at it this way, red has unique ways of showing he cares. he doesn’t even listen to ‘em, really, it’s more like…just in case.”

That seemed like a whale-sized understatement. But Antwan clearly wasn’t too upset about it if all he was doing was returning them to the sender. 

Probably he should be pissed off about this. At Red, Antwan, even Sans, it was obvious he knew about them and no one bothered to give him a heads up. It was a huge damned invasion of privacy and if Jeff found them in an AirBnB he probably would have the police on the phone. 

But instead he found himself weirdly touched, almost giggling at the mental image of Red creeping through the patio door to plant listening devices in their kitchen, sneakers creaking with every step like an old-timey cartoon. 

He wondered a little giddily what the first signs of Stockholm syndrome were. 

Bemused, Jeff shook the box. There were a lot of them. “So, how many are at Edge and Stretch’s place?”

“heh, i’m not even sure he knows anymore.”

“i know exactly how many, and where they all are, thanks.” That voice came from the doorway and Jeff jerked, almost spilling his coffee as he turned to see Red standing there, hands tucked into his pockets, grinning at them both with sharky teeth.

He was wearing a ratty sweatshirt and shorts, his trademark jacket missing and his bony feet bare. It made him look smaller and maybe most people would seem more vulnerable like that, stripped down to their basics. Jeff didn’t think much could make that word apply to Red. Instead, it made him think of the way a mongoose could fight a cobra. 

Red wandered in and Jeff was pretty sure the surprise on Sans’s face was mirrored on his own when Red gave Sans a kiss, stealing his coffee cup in the process. He kept an arm slung around Sans, who looked positively frozen, sockets wide, his eye lights extinguished, wow, that was the face of someone who needed a processor reboot, stat.

“like the new gear, huh.” Red smirked, licking his teeth as he ran what could only be called a possessive thumb over that smooth black leather. “he finally has my name all over him.” And before Jeff could come up with anything to say to _that_ , Red looked him over, assessing. “you’d look good in one, too. maybe i should mention it to antwan.”

Okay, holy shit, back this way the hell up. “I…uh…I’d really rather you didn’t.”

Red licked his teeth again, those crimson eye lights glittering with fiendish humor. “don’t play those games, huh?”

Well he wouldn’t say that--”Um…I think Antwan might be grouchy with you.” He reached out and pushed the little box in Red’s direction and it was not in desperate self-preservation, thank you, he was only making sure he could tell Antwan honestly that he’d given it to Red. 

“no sense of humor,” Red murmured. He peered into the box, poking into it with one sharp finger. “huh, looks like he found all of ‘em. good on him.”

Yeahhhh, like he didn’t believe Red was just saying that while there were three other ones were still tucked into the ceiling fan or something. “You’re going to sneak more cameras into his…our house. Aren’t you.”

Red and Sans both had an awful shrug addiction and Jeff was slowly starting to figure out to how to read the subtitles attached to them. Red’s most recent shrug held an undercurrent of defensiveness, proved by the way he said, “i keep a close eye on shit. especially my family, kid, you get me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” From the way that made a flutter of warmth rise in Jeff’s chest, he’d say that his Stockholm syndrome was coming along nicely. 

Red nodded. “good. remember it and you’ll do fine.” He tapped a finger against Jeff's coffee mug, the pointed tip tinging against the ceramic. "you done _espresso-ing_ yourself now?.

Sans looked like he was starting to slowly recover from his shock, eye lights back, but still a little dazed. Not that Jeff could blame him, Red was still stroking that collar, his fingers grazing the bone above the leather and Jeff was pretty sure he was in danger of overstaying his welcome. Whatever Red said he had when he called in sick, Jeff thought it might be the better side of staying alive to not spread it around it was actually for a booty call. A booty call that was getting dangerously close to being on speakerphone.

He hastily downed the last of his nearly cold coffee and stood, blurting out, “Um, yes! Thank you.”

“thanks for what, andy?” Red purred out, right next to the little ear hole on Sans’s skull. Sans’s eye lights dilated down to pinpricks and yeah, this was starting to feel like a bad invitation to early foreplay. His own body was perking up, fuck, he wasn’t attracted to Red or Sans, but it’d been _days_ , he was young, and he was used to some pretty regular orgasm time. Thinking about any kind of sex was putting him at risk; the absolutely last thing he wanted was to pop an accidental boner in front of the all-seeing spy here.

“For everything,” Jeff blurted. “For, um, taking the box. I’ll see you later at…somewhere!”

He was halfway to the door when Red called out, teasingly. “see you around, handy andy. next time the coffee is on you, _brewtiful.”_

So damned knowing. Jeff ignored it and his flaming cheeks, hurrying out the door, nearly slamming it behind him as he ran out to his car. There were still a few hours before he had to be to work. Plenty some time for a little personal handling. 

Hm, might even be a chance to try something a little risqué. Jeff never was keen on nude pictures or videos; he’d seen way too many people get screwed over with those. But those recording devices gave him an idea; audio only. 

With a little effort, maybe he could come up with something for Antwan to listen to on his ride home, to help stave off the exhaustion. Probably not the outcome Antwan was expecting, but hey, Jeff had a few rain checks to call in. 

Might be time to get started.

* * *

tbc


	5. Edge & Stretch

* * *

Edge was weary of television.

He didn’t mind it in general as entertainment. He watched it often enough curled up with Stretch in the evenings and occasionally let it play in the background as he did chores. Like anything, it was perfectly acceptable, within reason.

That was before television became his main source of entertainment. 

Sitting more or less trapped on their sofa by the weaknesses of his own body, his casted foot still settled into its pillow nest, his options were frustratingly limited. He was thoroughly sick of news that he couldn’t really affect, frustrated at watching cooking shows demonstrating recipes that he couldn’t currently experiment with and likely wouldn’t have the time once he returned to a full day’s work. 

(and he could barely stand the kitchen right now, still spattered with faded red paint that couldn’t be completely scrubbed away, his sanctuary tainted by the memory of kneeling on the floor with his unconscious brother in his arms)

What he wanted was a sense of normalcy. He wanted back into his carefully created routines, their designated route interrupted only by Stretch barreling into them and often through them with his cheery enthusiasm for the new. 

He wanted to be back at work, confidently handling the Embassy’s affairs rather than being forced to trust it was being appropriately managed without him. 

That was all bad enough, but being forced to email the director of his YMCA program that he wouldn’t be available for this week, possibly the next, was a straw very close to breaking his back along with his leg. He already gave his group less attention than he had in the past, taking on fewer duties as he spent more time with Stretch. 

Something was going to have to change and he was still coming up with a decision on what. 

The door opening interrupted his thoughts and Edge glanced up with shameful eagerness, his ready greeting dying on his lips as Stretch stalked in wearing an entirely different outfit than he’d left in that morning. Well, he had been grumbling about boredom, hadn’t he. He could hardly complain when the Universe chose to dump a mystery into his lap. “What happened to you?”

Stretch glared at him, the tint of orange to his gaze both a warning and an intrigue. “bruno happened to me. you’re gonna have to send someone else next time you need a special order. look at me!”

Yes, yes, Edge was definitely looking and what he saw was only a confirmation of what he already knew: Bruno was an excellent tailor.

How and why could wait, for now Edge only wanted to appreciate the view. Stretch’s new khaki trousers were fitted, the snug line falling neatly from hip to ankle and far more appealing than the track pants he normally wore. His button-up shirt hugged his ribcage, emphasizing his slimness, and exchanged his usual bright orange with a deeper shade pinstriped with brown. Even though it was untucked, instead of messy it only seemed casual, particularly with the hint of white t-shirt peeking through the opened collar, teasing at a normal concealed collarbone. His jacket was unbuttoned, acting as a frame for the scenery. Even his shoes were different, loafers instead of untied sneakers. All in all, it gave Stretch’s lanky frame an air of compact litheness that was overwhelmingly appealing.

Edge honestly didn’t care how Stretch dressed, his love for him wasn’t conditional on his fashion sense. That certainly didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy a feast when one was laid out for him. 

Saliva welled in his mouth and Edge swallowed hard, ignoring the huskiness in his voice as he asked, “I take it Bruno convinced you to try on something new?”

“convinced me?” Stretch scoffed. “more like strong-armed, bribed, and blackmailed! it was either this or take the bus naked. i didn’t even have a sheet this time.”

Curiouser and curiouser. “Why would you be naked?”

“that would be because bruno stole my clothes.”

A beat passed. “I’m sorry, he what?”

“he stole them!” Stretch snarled. Sparks of fiery orange magic spangled from his fingertips and Edge struggled to keep his expression placid despite how utterly delectable Stretch looked in his temper. One broken leg was enough. “look, i don’t want to relive the experience, i’m gonna go change.”

Edge was quite sure he didn’t say anything. He was positive his expression didn’t so much as flicker, no indication whatsoever of how much he desperately wanted to protest. 

But Stretch stopped halfway to the stairs, his sockets narrowing. “you want me to leave this on.”

“I’m sorry?” Edge tried for confusion, already knowing he was failing and miserably at that. 

“you like it!” Stretch said accusingly. 

There was a distinct possibility that his answer was going to dictate the course of the evening. Edge chose his words with the care of a one trying to decide which wire to cut on a particularly volatile bomb. “I always like you, no matter what you’re wearing...but you did already endure his tactics. It might be worth wearing a little longer, if only to see if it’s truly comfortable.”

That pointed gaze sharpened, eye lights once merely tinged orange brightening like a flame. Edge was reminded of a nature documentary, a warning that looking away from a lion might invite an attack. 

Suddenly, one side of Stretch’s mouth quirked up in a languid smile, his tongue gliding briefly across his teeth. “you like it.”

That easy drawl sent a tantalizing shiver up Edge’s spine. “I do,” he confessed. 

His risk proved worth it as Stretch almost prowled over to him, that rare gracefulness usually only seen when he was dancing and enhanced by those clothes as he said, husky low, “baby love, if you want me to play dress up, you only ever have to ask.”

He settled into Edge’s lap, winding long arms around him. Edge hissed through his teeth at the teasing wriggle, catching his hips to still him. Uselessly, Stretch’s smirk widened, his sockets hooded as he leaned in to brush their mouths together, pulling back before Edge could deepen it. 

“oohh, what’s that i feel?” Stretch crooned. That squirm bordered on cruel, his tailbone grinding into Edge’s shorts. “i’m thinking you actually want to play _undress_ , dontcha?” 

Words escaped him. Edge was never as clever at verbal sparring as his husband was, anyway. All he could manage was a low growl, reverberating in his chest as he cupped Stretch’s chin in a rough hand, holding him still as he leaned in to take that perfectly mocking mouth. 

A knock at the door stopped him a bare inch away, close enough for their breath to meet.

Stretch groaned, his head drooped. “seriously?”

“Ignore it,” Edge suggested breathlessly. He caught hold of Stretch’s hips in both hands, raising his own slightly as he lightly ground Stretch’s pelvis down against him. A low gasp came as his first answer but his second was disappointment as Stretch squirmed away, sliding to his feet. 

“wow, really? who are you and what did you do with my husband,” Stretch said dryly. “sorry, babe, we ain’t hanging from the chandeliers yet.”

Edge could only watch the sway of Stretch’s hips sadly as they walked away from him, shifting his own in a vain attempt to stifle the heat settling there. His desire cooled considerably as Stretch’s voice floated from the opened door.

“hey, sans.” Stretch held an equal measure of surprise and wariness. Not entirely untoward, Sans wasn’t one to simply stop by for a visit. Whenever Sans showed up, he tended to bring along a gift of ulterior motives. 

“heya, stretch,” Sans said, easily. “edge home?” 

As if he didn’t already know. 

Stretch snorted. “not by choice, come on in.” He held open the door and Sans strolled in, pausing to kick off his shoes at the door before Edge could loudly remind him. Stretch’s sockets widened, his gaze catching somewhere around the height of Sans’s chest. “hey, nice bling! getting some new decorations for the old place, huh?”

To Edge’s surprise, Sans’s eye lights slid towards him, almost warily. “thanks.”

Then he turned Edge’s direction and he was forced to catch his breath. 

Sans was wearing a betrothal collar. 

Collars served many purposes in Underfell, blatantly identifiable and allowing for little leeway when their warnings were ignored. 

They were used to quantify familial relationships, status; a collar acted as a declaration. When Edge was Captain of the Snowdin guard, Red wore his collar, a statement of warning that any aggression directed at Red would be met and returned tenfold by not only Edge, but every guard in his command. Not that it had been entirely necessary, issues of HP aside, Red was more than capable of handling himself, but the statement was important.

A betrothal collar, in Red’s colors no less. Now this was an interesting development.

He did not mistake the wariness in Sans’s expression, the caution as he shuffled closer. Edge was years away from Underfell, but he doubted he would ever forget proper etiquette, not after having Red ramming it into his skull for most of his lifetime. In this case, the correct response was to ignore it. “What can I do for you?”

He didn’t think he imagined the slight tension easing in Sans’s shoulders. It was very nearly insulting; what was it he was expecting Edge to do? Challenge him to a duel? Demand to know Sans’s intentions towards his older brother’s virtue? Because that was a barn door long since opened and whatever horses left inside to run away were likely escaping into a different idiom. 

Certainly Sans had issues of his own, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t appropriate for Red. Frankly, it was probably the only way a person _would_ be appropriate for him. What Sans could give his brother was what Edge always wanted for him: a companion to keep him from being alone. 

From seemingly nowhere, Sans pulled out a thick folder, offering it to Edge. “red asked me to give you this.”

“how is red doing, anyway?” Stretch shut the door, hands that were feeling for his hoodie pocket grudgingly sliding down to his trouser pockets instead.

“eh, you know red,” Sans said and there was a certain weariness in his grin that Edge understood all too well. “hangover won’t keep him down. between him and paps, i’m kinda hoping they both keep away from any _whiskey_ behavior.”

To his credit, Stretch only nodded, offering no indication of the scene in their kitchen last night. “yeah, maybe they’ll let you call the _shots_ for a while.”

“that’d sure lift my _spirits_.”

Edge only took the folder wordlessly, ignoring their version of coded speak. He was already aware Red was well. Alongside a reassuring message from Sans, he’d gotten a text from his brother in the wee hours of nothing more than a picture of a traffic light, shining green. Red indulging his sense of humor was nearly as reassuring as any message, as was this folder. Edge knew without looking what it was, flipping it open to the first page to see his brother’s incident report, written by hand in an obscure language from the Underground, the same one he forced Edge to learn as a child. “Did you read this?”

Sans scratched at the back of one leg with a sock-covered foot. “you asking if i did or if i can? cause the answer is yes.”

At his other side, Stretch leaned over his shoulder, peering down. “is that written in wingdings? holy shit, i haven’t seen that in years!”

Edge didn’t have a single qualm in flipping it closed to shield it from Stretch’s gaze. “i’m sorry, love, it’s a security briefing.”

That scowl said the state of his evening was teetering into dangerous territory again and Edge wondered sourly if he had Red to thank for it. He wouldn’t put it past him to send Sans over at right this moment simply to amuse himself. 

“is it about the california?” Stretch asked, coolly. “cause, red said he’d let me know what happened.”

“he didn’t forget, either, honey bun. he did promise.” Sans plucked another report out of the air, holding it out in offering. “i won’t lie, it’s a little redacted, but he said you deserved to know what happened.”

“thanks,” Stretch said, the tightness around his mouth easing. Protest rose to Edge’s mouth as Stretch took the slimmer folder that Sans offered, left unspoken. If Red thought Stretch needed to know, then he would and nothing Edge said would change a damned thing. Especially if there were promises involved. “and don’t you start calling me that, it’s bad enough when the gremlin does.”

Sans shrugged. “can’t promise, but i’ll try. red kinda rubs off on ya, ya know?”

“yeah, no, i don’t wanna hear about you rubbing off. that why you’ve got the new accessory?”

Sans only tapped the folder with one finger. “don’t think i need to tell you that’s top secret. don’t get red into any shit blabbing, okay? not even your therapist, pretty.”

“yeah, yeah, i got it, no twitter announcements...wait, did you just call me pretty?” Stretch’s head jerked up indignantly, mouth dropping open in his outrage.

Very carefully, Edge didn’t react; he knew a distraction when he heard one. 

Sans’s grin widened. “dressed like that, yeah. better’n honey bun. see you later, alligator.”

He didn’t wait for the return sentiment of the crocodile, wandering over to slide his feet into his shoes before shortcutting out. 

Stretch only set aside his folder, muttering beneath his breath about gremlins and their cohorts. It turned back into a smile quickly enough as he turned to Edge, his voice a throaty purr as he said, “speaking of pretty things, think we were in the middle of something, _pretty_.”

And oh, it was tempting. But there was something Edge needed to do first and that report was a pointed reminder. He held up a hand as Stretch leaned in, halting him, “Wait. I’ve been thinking today. We need to talk.”

Stretch reared back, all that seduction collapsing into a lopsided smile, “welp, no good thing ever started with that. what are you cooking up and can’t it sit on a back burner for a while?”

Much as he mourned to see that desire dwindle away, Edge shook his head. “It’s important.”

Stretch’s smile wavered, fading. To Edge’s shocked horror, tears rose in the corner of his sockets and Stretch promptly came up with the very last thing Edge expected him to ever blurt out, desperately, “please don’t leave me!”

Edge only looked at him in flabbergasted surprise, watching as those tears spilled over, falling droplets dampening that new shirt. “ _What?_ Of course I’m not, why would you even think…we’re married! I promised you forever, I still have some time to give it!"

“well, don't start off with ‘we need to talk!’” Stretch snapped. “everyone knows what that means!” The flow of those tears didn’t ease and Edge took hold of him by the shoulders, giving him a gentle shake. 

“I am not everyone. And nothing means more to me than you, do you understand me? Not my job, not any security reports, not even my damned kitchen. You. All right?” He couldn’t say his brother, but that was all right. Stretch would never ask for it. He pulled Stretch into a hard embrace, holding him tightly as if his arms could force away the tremor running through his husband. His husband. His. 

Stretch nodded, his chin digging into Edge’s shoulder as he sniffled. “sorry, babe. i just...sorry. i know all that, i just panicked. so what…?”

“What I wanted to tell you was I scheduled a meeting with Asgore to be taken off the security roster permanently.” Stretch shifted in his arms and Edge let him go, allowing him to draw back to meet Edge’s gaze. Gently, he cupped Stretch’s face in his gloved hands, smoothing his thumbs over those angular cheekbones, wiping away dampness. “Truth be told, I should have done it a long time ago. You were right, I can’t handle being on two teams and the Embassy needs to train more Monsters to take care of security.” 

“so...no more trips without me?” Stretch asked slowly.

Edge hesitated. “Love, I want to be able to promise you that, I do. But--”

“no, don’t.” Slim fingers settled over his mouth, silencing him. “it’s okay, babe. i get it.”

“Do you?” Edge couldn’t help asking. Listening to Stretch begging him not to leave had left him shaken. He couldn’t doubt Edge’s love for him, he _couldn’t--_

A warm mouth replaced those fingers, gently coaxing and Edge couldn’t help sighing into that soft touch. Stretch’s hand dropped to his, drawing it up, settling it over his sternum where his soul pulsed softly, its warmth seeping through.

“yeah, i do,” Stretch murmured, “wanna let me prove it?”

Some hours later, Edge was more than convinced of not only his husband’s belief in his love, but also that his new wardrobe was even better when tossed carelessly to the floor. 

They were still on the sofa, Stretch sprawled out sleeping across his chest while Edge drowsily stroked the delicate place where his ribs attached to his spine when his phone caught his eye, sitting innocently on the coffee table. Reaching out, he could barely touch it with his fingertips, dragging it closer until he could pick it up. 

The contact he wanted to message was the second on his list.

_Congratulations on your liability._

For long moments there was no reply and Edge started to set his phone aside, debating on whether he wanted to sleep or persuade Stretch to wake up again when his phone lit up with an incoming message. 

_just jealous cause mine is in a collar_

It was followed by a complicated array of punctuation that formed a picture of a middle finger. 

Edge held back his smile, having no doubt that Red would be able to see it if he didn’t, and offered a middle finger of his own to whatever hidden cameras were surely in their living room. If his brother was perverse enough to be watching, that was, and there was a thought to haunt his nightmares. 

His brother’s little dig wasn’t true and even if it was, Stretch’s comfort zone was the important thing. He could respect Red clinging to Underfell’s ways when it came to Sans. He didn’t need the same. 

He didn’t.

Gently, he slipped a knuckle beneath Stretch’s chin, lifting it enough to steal a sleepy kiss that slowly warmed, deepening. Without looking, he tossed his phone onto the coffee table to join the unused television remotes. Tonight, he was hoping for a different kind of entertainment. 

-finis-


End file.
